


out of shadow, into light

by glassedplanets



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-typical language, Coda, Kilo-Five trilogy, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Technical Violations Of Chain Of Command (But That Doesn't Matter If ONI Says You Don't Exist)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassedplanets/pseuds/glassedplanets
Summary: Shore leave was embarrassingly tame. Unfortunately, the trend continues.
Relationships: Malcolm "Mal" Geffen & Naomi-010, Malcolm "Mal" Geffen/Vasily Beloi, Vasily Beloi & Naomi-010
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	out of shadow, into light

**Author's Note:**

> am i... am i really the first person to use the vaz/mal tag here

Mal’s back hits the door the second it slides softly shut, and Vaz’s hands press against his hips, his chest, sliding around to his back like he doesn’t know where to touch. If it were anyone else it’d be indecisive, but Mal knows better; this is for him as much as it is for Vaz, for the ghosts of his fingers left burning on Mal’s skin, for the electric itch neither of them had been able to shake since well before they got on that shuttle leaving Cascade.

“Private quarters,” Mal breathes, and the air hitches audibly in his throat as Vaz’s mouth brushes, just barely, against the skin behind his ear. “Imagine that.”

“I’m imagining,” Vaz murmurs back, pausing just long enough for anticipation to curl in Mal’s gut, “that our old pals back at the barracks would be pretty happy about it.”

Vaz spares himself from Mal’s witty comeback (extremely witty, he’ll have to pocket it for another time if his brain ever comes back online enough to remember it) by leaning his weight against Mal, trapping him between the hard, cold length of the door and his own familiar frame. Mal’s body knows this, knows what to do to please the singularly focused hindbrain that’s taken over him entirely, and he goes pliant under Vaz’s touch, lets him spread his knees just enough that Vaz can fit up against him. It’s a practiced dance, and Mal could do this forever.

He dips his fingertips under the collar of Vaz’s shirt as Vaz rolls their hips together, and the familiarity of this – well, it sets something in him on fire, makes something rise up in his chest, stinging as it goes.

Life is different now. It will continue to be different. Maybe one day, they won’t have to take only what they can get.

Vaz goes still against him, mouth paused against Mal’s jaw, and the tension in his shoulders is familiar, too. Mal meets his eyes silently as he leans away, bracing himself, but the look on Vaz’s face isn’t anticipating danger; it’s hesitant, but curious.

“BB?” Vaz calls carefully. Mal’s stomach sinks.

“If I come in now, am I going to regret it?” comes BB’s voice, dejected, put through a filter to make it sound muffled. “And to answer your unspoken questions, first off, all I’ve got going in everyone’s quarters are dumb processes to monitor your health and locations in case of an emergency, and second, with my unimaginably vast intelligence, I put two and two together _ages_ ago, nevermind that your vitals have been going haywire since you were planetside.”

“I don’t need to be a super-calculator to count to four,” Mal says, in spite of the hesitation thumping in his throat.

Vaz steps away from the door and back towards the neat bunk. The look in his eyes is anything but a dismissal, and Mal follows him as if every limb were tied to him, as if the simplest twitch of Vaz’s fingers could command him to do anything. ( _As if_. As if that weren’t the case.)

“Ha, ha,” BB replies flatly, voice still muffled. “In any case, have at it, be safe, et cetera. Oh, and by the way, the bulkheads separating every room are thick enough to be _excellent_ soundproofing. You’re welcome.”

“Well, well,” Vaz says, looking up at Mal as he sits down on the edge of the bed, and the look is so loaded with want and other things that Mal feels his breath stop in his chest again. “You can leave now, BB.”

“I’m sure it’ll be safe to pop back in after two minutes,” BB quips, and Mal narrowly resists the urge to flip off the closed door.

“At your own risk,” he says instead, sliding easily into glibness even as Vaz slowly pulls him closer. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your delicate sensibilities.”

“Goodbye, BB,” Vaz says pointedly. Mal nudges his knees apart and Vaz’s fingertips dig into his sides, his attention sharpening palpably.

“One more thing.” BB’s dropped the muffling, though Mal hopes for the sake of his own dignity that BB’s not in the cameras as Vaz’s fingertips push up under the hem of his shirt. “You should know that Osman is also quite capable of counting to four.”

Vaz pauses. Mal looks down to meet his eyes, and the thing that wells up in him this time is familiar and old, something close to resignation.

“Don’t worry, my doves, you’re not in trouble with the principal,” BB says, not quite reassuring nor cheerful. “Even though it is technically a violation of the chain of command.”

Vaz’s hands resume their upwards journey. Mal lets out the breath he’d been holding and says, “So you’re saying I _don’t_ have to sneak out of the room while everyone’s asleep.”

“Nope.” BB pops the _p_. “Not unless you feel like it.”

“Fantastic,” Vaz says, and roughly jerks Mal closer so that Mal’s thigh is pressed right between Vaz’s legs. “I’ve always wanted to fuck my CO on an ONI prowler watched by a smart AI while the entire crew knows about it.”

“ _Leaving_ ,” BB says firmly, and he cuts out with a dramatic burst of static.

“BB’s a true comrade, isn’t he,” Mal says. “Also, you can say that again.”

“What?” Vaz’s voice is low, and Mal can feel the rumble in his chest as he leans forward. “Fuck my CO on an ONI prowler?”

“Who, me?” Mal replies, breathless. “Don’t mind if you do.”

“Then get down here,” Vaz says, tipping his chin up, “and let me.”

Mal grins down at him, and pushes his luck. He knows what Vaz meant – what he wants, what they both want, overwhelmingly obvious between them – but he rests his forearms on Vaz’s shoulders, leans down, and kisses him. It’s eager, juvenile, a little sweet, and Vaz gives in immediately, his hands sweeping up Mal’s back to pull him even closer.

It’s been a long time. Too long. Mal can feel his nerves singing even like this, with all these layers of clothing between them, plying Vaz with kiss after kiss, breath echoing in his ears. Maybe they really are getting old, Mal thinks, as Vaz sighs against him and turns his head to kiss the strip of still-raw skin on Mal’s wrist. All this sentimentality and slowness.

“What d’you want?” Mal asks, sinking down onto his knees, bracketed by Vaz’s thighs. The faint smell of alcohol and food still clings to him, just barely, and suddenly all of this clothing between them is inexcusable, unconscionable. He wants to feel Vaz’s skin under his hands, not rough, familiar fabric as he digs his fingers into Vaz’s thighs and gets a sigh in response.

“Anything,” Vaz says, and lets his eyes close.

“C’mon.” Mal slides his hands up to the crease of Vaz’s thighs, just close enough to leave the realm of suggestion. “How d’you want me? You said the words out loud, I won’t let you get away with not following through.” He leans in and grins. “You woulda had me up against the door if BB hadn’t interrupted. What’s plan B?”

“Putting your mouth to better use,” Vaz replies, and Mal needs nothing more than that.

* * *

The adrenaline and the consequent comedown have chased most of the alcohol out of their systems but, well, Mal figures that this is probably a good night for bad decisions. If BB and Osman have had their suspicions for this long, they won’t make anything worse by popping into the galley for something warm to keep a hangover at bay.

The coffee machine looks like it’s gone through another subtle iteration since the last time he saw it, and Mal catches his reflection in the glossy, dark galley backsplash as he reaches for some cups; the stamp proclaiming BELOI, V. in small, neat letters on the breast looks stark like this, tempting fate. Vaz tempts fate even more, leaning back against the counter as Mal nudges the coffee machine into producing something that won’t keep them wired, the warm skin of his arm pressed against Mal’s, their thighs brushing.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get enough,” Mal murmurs, joking, and the coffee machine hums.

“Never do,” Vaz replies, just as quietly, and Mal turns around to join him, resting the small of his back against the counter and crossing his arms so that his knuckles can brush against Vaz’s elbow. Call him a sap, and you’d probably be right.

The coffee machine fills the silence between them, humming comfortably, and eventually it produces – Mal doesn’t know what it is, just that it’s definitely not coffee, probably tea – something warm and floral and drowsing that tints two nice, fancy, probably-Parangosky-approved glasses a soft shade of gold.

“You know,” Vaz says thoughtfully, reaching for one of the cups, dwarfing it in his hand, “If Dev and Phillips aren’t a nuclear-level threat to the chain of command–”

“He’s a civilian, though.”

“Is he?” Vaz levels him with a look. “For that matter, are _we_ still ODSTs?”

“Oh, come on.”

“All I’m saying is that I don’t think rank matters for us anymore, Staff.”

Any other time, Mal would have made a smartass remark, but instead he shakes his head and settles for taking a drink, leaning his shoulder further against Vaz’s in the process.

“BB,” Mal says, and after a second’s delay that Mal suspects is for his own benefit, BB’s cube pops up over the table. “What is this stuff we’re drinking?”

“Tea,” BB supplies helpfully. “A tisane, to be precise. Chamomile, lavender, rose, touch of mint. Smells lovely,” he adds dryly.

“Adj and Leaks did this?” Vaz asks, frowning into his cup.

“Parangosky, actually. Came with the last round of supplies.”

“It’s good,” Mal says, shrugging.

“Where’s Naomi?” Vaz asks. “In her quarters?”

“Foxtrot deck,” BB replies. “Having a bit of a doom-and-gloom moment that I’m sure you know nothing about, Corporal Beloi. Er, that is, the Corporal Beloi _not_ wearing the Corporal Beloi shirt.” BB twirls, and it feels like he’s winking.

Vaz turns to pull out one more cup, and Mal prods the coffee machine into reproducing the drink – the _tisane_ , per BB – a third time as Vaz says, “You don’t have to let her know we’re coming.”

“I _am_ learning how you people work, you know.” BB’s voice is mock-offended, his cube tipping sharply like a disappointed nod.

“Sure you don’t want to be a real boy, BB?” Mal asks.

“Frankly, I’m offended at the suggestion.”

“Good,” Vaz mutters. “Everyone else in their quarters?”

“That they are. I won’t specify whose quarters, for the sake of privacy, but you two and Naomi are the only ones not in your rooms. And it’s getting _late_. Gosh. What will your parents say?” BB pauses. “Oh, maybe that’s a bit off-color.”

“You’d make a great human,” Mal says. BB lets out a noise of vague disgust and disappears.

The next few minutes are decidedly surreal: walking the halls of an ONI prowler, hand brushing easily against Vaz's like it’s something he couldn’t ruin both their entire military careers over, bringing a cuppa to a Spartan that Vaz would easily lay his life down for, and so Mal would, too.

Naomi is already watching the doorway when they walk in; her brows furrow together for a split second, her sharp, pale eyes darting from Mal’s borrowed shirt to the way they walk a little too close together to the steaming cup in Vaz’s hand, the hand whose fingertips aren’t touching the edge of Mal’s palm. And then her expression schools itself into professional, Spartan evenness, curiosity carefully quashed.

“Parangosky sent this stuff,” Vaz says by way of greeting, and hands over the tea. “It’s good.”

Naomi accepts the cup; the dim light on Foxtrot deck skates along the pale scars that trace the length of her arm, like a butcher’s markings.

“Thanks,” she says, and if Parangosky’s delicate cups were dwarfed by his and Vaz’s hands, Naomi practically erases her cup from existence. “Um, sit. If you’d like.”

She shifts in towards the middle of the crate she’s perched on in a sadly futile attempt to give them more room. Mal sits close to her anyways, minding the way she stiffens for a brief second as he and Vaz flank her, but like earlier, it falls away into careful composure. This time, though, Mal feels the tension leave her shoulders as she relaxes, her solid bulk unfamiliar but welcome.

“You doing okay?” Mal asks.

“Yes, sir,” Naomi replies reflexively, and Mal kicks himself for the automatic way the question marched out of his mouth despite his best efforts to keep the CO voice at bay. Some things, he thinks, take more than a few months aboard an ONI prowler to change.

“I mean, really.”

Naomi goes quiet; across from him, Mal can see Vaz studying her face.

“No,” she finally says, “but I will be. I have to be.”

“You’ve got us,” Vaz says. “Whenever you need us. However you need us.”

“Thanks,” she says, voice softer than Mal’s ever heard it. “It’s late, though. I should really get some sleep.”

She makes no move to get up, still staring deep into the gently steaming cup nestled between her hands like it’s got the answers she’s looking for. Mal knows a begged dismissal when he hears one.

“Yeah, me too. Vaz?”

Vaz stands up, and then – clearly to Naomi’s enormous surprise – he leans down to kiss the top of her head. Mal grins at the shock on her face, the faint flush rising in her pale cheeks, and he follows suit, planting a brief kiss just below her temple before standing to join Vaz.

“No blood this time,” she mutters, giving Mal a smile that’s probably supposed to work alongside the joke, but it’s a little too tender, almost shy, and that flush gathers just a little deeper.

“Figured I owed you a proper one,” Mal replies cheerfully. “Get some rest, Naomi.”

Her eyes lower at this, the faint smile dropping off of her face, and she goes back to staring at her reflection in the tea. The flush persists, though, and Mal thinks he catches a pale flash of motion out of the corner of his eye as he lays a hand at the small of Vaz’s back when they step off the observation deck.

* * *

With BB’s oddly ambiguous blessing (if it can be called that) and the acceptance inherent in the lack of an urgent comm from Osman, Mal nudges Vaz towards his own room and they sink together again, more slowly this time, less heated, trading sleepy touches that devolve into simple contact, nothing more than the necessary alignment of bodies so they fit into a narrow cot.

“We got shore leave and spent it like this,” Mal sighs. “We shoulda been shagging loud and drunk enough to get kicked out of a hotel and instead–” He reaches up and puts a hand on Vaz’s cheek again, thumb gently sweeping over his fading black eye, stubble rubbing against his palm. “We fucked in a bed like proper lads. Next thing you know we’ll be gazing into each other’s eyes.”

Vaz just grunts in response.

Mal grins to himself and closes his eyes. It’s quiet aboard _Port Stanley_ , but not supernaturally, unnervingly so; he secretly suspects that BB plays white noise through shipboard speakers to make it less creepy. And here in crew quarters it’s never pitch-black, either, nothing that would set off that primal sense of creeping horror. Just dim enough that he can see the slope of Vaz’s shoulders.

He almost wishes that they repeat today forever. Fuck the military, fuck ONI, live real lives. But on the other hand–

On the other hand, if he _did_ decide to magically fuck off, he'd have to take Naomi, too. And Dev. And Phillips, and Osman, and BB, and, well, at that point: he might as well just stay on _Port Stanley._ He _is_ here for a reason, after all. They all are. And even in spite of – _because_ of – the shit he’s seen so far, he wouldn’t trade this job for anything. Not for _anything_. Especially now, with Vaz’s warm presence beside him. Civilian life wouldn’t offer him anything he couldn’t get now.

“I’m a good ODST,” Vaz murmurs apropos of nothing, his cheek moving against Mal’s temple, “but I’m a shit ONI spook.”

“Why’s’at?” Mal mumbles back. He’s tired, in spite of their short walk to the galley and then to Foxtrot deck. Tired as in well-fucked, tired as in still feeling the food and alcohol they’d gorged themselves on on Cascade, tired as in the events of the past few days have probably aged him a goddamn decade. He could sleep for a week. He knows from experience that he won’t, but he could. Vaz’s fingers drift up under the hem of his shirt.

“When Sentzke’s lackeys were kicking the shit out of me, I realized I didn’t give a fuck about the mission.” Mal watches the dim cabin light drape over the curve of Vaz’s neck as he talks, nestling against the scar that shadows his jaw. “I would’ve rather let Osman nuke the _Inquisitor_ and make a scene than lose you.”

Mal props himself up on one elbow and stares down at Vaz, speechless. Vaz looks steadily back up at him, one hand still resting warm and solid on his hip, and there’s no trace of guilt in his face; just stubborn, righteous determination.

“D’you know, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me?”

Vaz frowns.

“No it’s not,” he says. “What about that time I thought I was going to die on Arcadia, and–”

“Ah,” Mal says, “yeah, alright. This's close, though.”

Vaz grunts again and pulls him down by the waist, so Mal eases himself back down, pausing to kiss Vaz just once, only once, except it turns into twice, and then he stops counting until they’ve both drifted halfway to sleep and Mal has to fight to keep his eyes open.

“Vaz.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, mate. I’m serious.”

Vaz laughs at him, low and quiet, and _that_ – that alone is worth everything the past few weeks have been.

“What, does it take a week like this one for you to be serious about it?”

“No,” Mal says, kissing Vaz’s scar where it curves down his jaw, “but a week like this one sure makes me appreciate it.”

**Author's Note:**

> title yoinked from the halo 3 soundtrack ([tsavo highway suite, first two movements](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pua_r299_7Y)). this fic has been gathering dust on my drive for about four years now as i grapple with my feelings for halo post-H5, but i've been have a really wonderful time re-playing the MCC on PC so i figured it was time to wrestle this into shape and send it out. i've got my issues with the k5 trilogy, but the chemistry between these three ain't one of 'em.


End file.
